


Downpour

by Vhrzs



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Birthday Smut, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Secret Relationship, Sweat, tie-in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vhrzs/pseuds/Vhrzs
Summary: A short and sloppy one-shot for Claude's birthday!Claude gets a surprise birthday present after being cornered in weapons storage by his on-again off-again rival: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, whose judgement is being impaired by a heatwave.*Vaguely ties in with Sunchaser: Part 1*
Relationships: Claurenz - Relationship, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, claude von riegan/lorenz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Downpour

“Aww, c’mon Teach, I wasn’t serious!”

Claude tried to bargain. Usually he was one step ahead; but in hindsight it was foolish to challenge the Professor to a sword dual to get out of cleaning duties. He thought he mastered that technique of jarring the opponents hand so they would drop their sword: he wasn’t even close, and Byleth wasn’t just any opponent.

“A bet’s a bet, Claude. Maybe you’ll think about that next time you try to scheme your way out of your duties; now you can do _all_ the work.” She handed him her training sword. “You can plot and plan and gamble to outmaneuver your opponents all you want; but we’ll be having dinner while you think about the consequences of trying to shortchange your peers.”

“That’s why I said it was a _joke_. I wouldn’t really leave without helping, I just wanted an excuse to challenge you.” The rest of the class was already filing out of the training ground.

“Whatever your intention, it left a bad impression. Impressions matter. Good luck.” She turned and left the grounds; knowing that if she let him keep talking he might work his way free from the consequences of his actions.

“Ugh.”

Claude looked around. Everyone dropped their training weapons where they stood when he lost, and the grounds were already in disarray when they arrived: someone else’s class didn’t bother to pull _their_ weight. _But fuming over it won’t get it done any faster_ , Claude told himself. He decided to make a game of it, seeing how many of the heavy wooden weapons he could balance on one arm without dropping them. 

He was surprised to see Lorenz set in the corner of the grounds still, quietly sharpening his lance. Usually he would take advantage of such a situation to chide Claude from the sidelines, but today he seemed a little more resigned. Everyone was: it was sweltering. Lorenz’s reclusiveness, however, was ongoing. He steadfastly avoided Claude for two weeks after the 'gazebo incident,' as if pretending Claude wasn’t real would somehow make it disappear. If it was working, it was a miracle: Claude couldn't forget the kiss, the shed shirts, or being caught by Catherine.

After Lorenz decided to acknowledge Claude’s existence again, he was cold, but nervous: in short, obvious. Now, and for the past week, he had been hovering at a safe distance. 

It was starting to make Claude’s skin crawl. Something wasn’t right. He had no delusions that Lorenz was suddenly trustworthy because he lost himself in passion for a single night. He was still the son of Count Gloucester, and that was reason enough for wariness. 

Claude piled up another load of strewn swords: he might have on or two trips left to the storage building. 

Once inside the dark, cool building, he dropped the swords and stretched. His jacket dispensed long ago, he brought his yellow shirt up to wipe his brow when he heard footsteps behind him. 

His ears twitched, and the hair on the back of his neck stood. 

Lorenz dropped another pile of training weapons onto a nearby table for sorting. Instead of doing just that, he turned and closed the door behind him, setting a rickety chair under the handle.

“Lorenz…” Claude said slowly. “Decided to help me after all?” He leaned on a nearby crate casually: bringing his hand closer to the knife sheathed at his lower back.

“Something like that.” Lorenz huffed, drawing out a water canteen and taking a long drink, too parched for further explanation.

“Let me guess: you want something. Praise? A favor?” 

“It’s cooler in here. It’s so damned _hot_.” Lorenz complained. He had been flushed even on arrival to the grounds, before they started their training: with the slightest effort he became patchy in exertion and it seemed reluctant to fade. 

“Is that really a reason to bar the door?”

“Ah, that.” He strolled toward Claude, taking another long drink from his water. 

Claude searched around; what was in Lorenz’s arms-reach? He had his ornamental rapier on his hip, but it would be useless in such close quarters. Surely he couldn’t match Claude for a knife fight. Lorenz was completely open; practice armor shed, coat open to relieve the heat. Then again, so was Claude.

Claude slid his hand back a bit farther to wrap his fingers around the knife hilt. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” Lorenz said. His every word was heaved in exhaustion.

 _It could be an act_ , Claude assumed. The fatigue in Lorenz’s face made it hard to read his expression: was he tired or apprehensive? He was easy to predict; typically his machinations were clear on his face: he was a bad actor and a worse liar. But in such a miserable state, his intentions were unclear.

“…Okay. So talk.” Claude prompted. He took one last chance to wipe the sweat from his forehead; it would get into his eyes if he had to fight. Lorenz was nearing enough for a lunge.

When he lifted his shirt, the brush of something along his abdomen startled him; his knife was out and pressed to Lorenz’s throat before he could flinch; his fingertips still rested on Claude’s stomach.

“I did not cast you as someone to be easily startled.” Lorenz said calmly. "Considering your casual demeanor."

“What are you doing?”

“Making another mistake.” He pushed his fingers a little harder into the trail below Claude’s stomach. “The heat becomes you.”

Vain as it was, Claude was flattered. He loved the summer; everyone in Fodlan wilted any degree over sixty-five. It was miserably humid, but how could anyone curse the sun’s warmth given so readily? The summer was a blessing and he basked in it, choosing to interpret thriving despite the overbearing heat as proof of vitality.

Even now, as he stood drenched, hair down and curly from the water he doused over himself earlier in their training, he felt most alive with a sheen of sweat on him. Even the stuffy storage shelter was too cool when the air outside was striped with sunlight.

“This heatwave has everyone in misery, but you flourish, bounding across the grounds attended by the mirage of heat off of the bricks. Makes you look like a dream.” Lorenz continued, hazy in voice and weak in projection. “And today during training…The way you drip enthusiasm even when the rest of us have been pushed past our limit. It’s enthralling.”

Claude was so fixated, he forgot to lower his knife. Having been ignored for the better part of a month, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

“Well I’m flattered. Did you lock me in the storage building just to tell me that?” He smiled, withdrawing the knife and twirling it in hand. “Sure you don’t want to, you know, _stab_ me?”

Lorenz seemed to be having second thoughts about whatever his intentions _had_ been. He pressed his hand into the crate behind Claude, leaning in close in complete disregard for the knife playing between Claude’s fingers.

“Your birthday was three days ago.”

Claude blinked in confusion.

“Yes.”

“You gave me something for my birthday, after a fashion.” Lorenz thought about their affair in the gazebo, the rose Claude stole from Rhea’s garden.

“I guess I did.”

Lorenz slid his fingers down to Claude’s waistline.

“I have considered returning the favor. So as not to be indebted.” He began working at the buttons of Claude’s pants without permission.

“Whoa!” Claude let him work, protesting only for principle. “Who said I wanted this? You could have asked me— maybe I want _flowers._ ”

“I can get you flowers if you want.” The look in his eyes was thirsty. He had abandoned his canteen. 

“You’re doing this for _you_.” Claude accused playfully.

“Are you going to stop me?” Lorenz shuddered, leaning close into Claude’s ear. “Goddess, Claude. You smell so _ripe_.”

The hair stood on Claude’s neck again, this time with a tingle of anticipation. Such a perverse declaration from Lorenz unbalanced him, made his head buzz with pleasant surprise and want.

He lifted is his shirt further in invitation with the point of the knife.

“Let’s go a little slower.” He put the shirt between his teeth and took Lorenz’s hands from his pants, restraining him by the wrists.

Lorenz looked at him with exasperation. He lunged for Claude like he was the last drop of water in a desert; lapping up the beads of sweat from his chest. He dropped to his knees, following the eddies of perspire down his stomach. Shaking Claude’s hands from his own, he tugged the already loosened pants open just enough to continue his nuzzling: yanking them down inch by inch to bury his nose into the thick mane and inhale _deep_ the savory smell of his body heat. 

Claude hummed into his shirt between his teeth, positive this was some heat induced fever fantasy and he was passed out in the storage house slowly suffocating. For Lorenz to act so base was… It wasn’t possible.

But he was and he continued. Lorenz gave the waistband another good tug, releasing Claude in full. It gave him pause only for a moment; he seemed mildly surprised, confusing Claude in turn: was that not his goal, his destination?

Apparently not. He aimed instead for the fold where thigh and pelvis met, running his tongue in and under the crevice, savoring the pungent aroma that was cut with salt when tasted. His tongue felt cool along the soaked and raw skin.

“ _Huh.._.” Was all Claude could say. He pushed his pants down further; Lorenz was three steps ahead, taking the opportunity to pull his stance wider to seek concealed skin yet unattended by his tongue.

He seemed to be in a trance. Except for steadfastly ignoring the stiffness that slid insistently against his cheek, no part of Claude was off limits, and nothing Claude did distracted him. Even when he combed all of Lorenz’s hair away from his face, thick and malleable with perspire, he did not slow. 

“That feels nice…” Claude mumbled, squeezing the knife hilt so hard he thought it might crumble to dust. Reality was setting in, the shock worn off. Watching Lorenz— hair slicked back and arms wrapped possessively around Claude’s thighs— desperately tonguing his undercarriage was something out of his most unfathomable dream: but it was happening. It was too messy and imperfect to be a mirage. 

It was making his legs weak…

…But he was more than willing to let Lorenz wear out his fetish. Claude shifted, making himself comfortable on the crate while Lorenz all but held him up and held him captive. 

After five minutes more of ceaseless foray, Lorenz pulled away, gasping. There wasn’t an inch of skin on him that wasn’t boiling red in exertion… and he hadn’t left and inch of Claude unpolished. Feeling safe enough to abandon his knife (he could probably push Lorenz over at this point), Claude pulled his own water canteen around and tipped Lorenz back by his chin. He held the spout up to his panting mouth.

“Drink.” Lorenz looked at him suspiciously, as if he was trying to distract him. “I’m not going anywhere. Drink.” Lorenz took it in his mouth greedily, and Claude couldn’t help but notice how pretty he was when he swallowed; how each pronounced gulp highlighted all the cords and muscles in his long neck, carved through by the water spilling from his sloppy drinking.

After a few minutes, wiping his mouth and running his hand through his hair, he sought again Claude’s center, eying it for yet unexplored skin.

“You missed a spot.” Claude suggested, flexing, twitching his cock for emphasis.

Lorenz looked on with apprehension through his panting.

“Oh. Or maybe you’ve never…”

“No.” He answered coarsely.

“It’s not hard. It’ll come to you, just keep doing what you were...”

For a moment, Lorenz seemed unsure. But he could not resist, collapsing back into Claude’s middle, lips parted, still not satisfied.

What felt _nice_ on Claude’s body was nearly unbearable along his cock. Lorenz was careful, tentative now having regained some of his senses. The first darting grazes of the tip of his tongue were tantalizing, alluding his inexperience. Before long, though, he was pulling his tongue flat, in rhythmic swaths up and down the length of him. He started to pat his lips against it between strokes; nudging it to run his tongue underneath, each side; tracing the rim of his head with soft pulls of his lips. 

“Good. More.” Claude whispered, “Put it in your mouth. Just a little.”

Lorenz darted his eyes up to Claude, before apprehensively placing his lips around the tip. 

That was all it took. 

Lorenz’s face crumpled in longing, mouth opening in a moan, giving way to his slow slide down the length until he was buried again in the curly hair of of Claude’s navel; Claude encouraging him with a soft squeeze through the bristle of his undercut.

“Uunngh. Yes…” By the back of his neck, Claude guided into a steady bob. “Lorenz...”

Lorenz looked up at him with desperation this time.

“You like it when I say that?”

Lorenz hummed.

“Then keep sucking.” Claude demanded. He leaned close over Lorenz to pull the back of his neck, his shirt, anything he could get hands on to ground himself. “Ughh… Lorenz…”

Each drip of perspiration that landed on Lorenz sent a tremor through him. He had never had such filthy wants, but something about Claude gathered over him, steady showering him with the heat offcast from his body was waking a desire in him he could not rationalize. 

“Lorenz.”

He only knew he loved the feel, the smell, the taste of him: especially so concentrated. 

“Lorenz…”

It had been driving him crazy for days.

“… Lorenz.”

It was why he lingered behind and barred Claude in the storage house, using the flimsy excuse of a birthday present, of being indebted. 

“Mmn. Lorenz. I’m gonna come.” Claude put him on notice, a soft break in his voice. 

Lorenz panicked, briefly; he had been too heat stricken to consider the natural result. He thought immediately to pull away, but the newer, perverse side of him wondered if this would quench the thirst that wouldn’t abate since their tryst in the garden gazebo.

Lorenz didn’t stop; Claude didn’t stop him: he took it as a sign to press hard and clutch Lorenz’s head to hold him still, digging into his hair while he filled the back of his throat. 

“UuuUghn! Yes!” He rocked his hips shallow. “Lorenz… Your mouth…”

Lorenz dropped his hands to the crotch of his pants, squeezing hard to try and discourage himself so he could leave as quickly as possible. 

It did not escape Claude’s attention.

In one swift motion, he rounded Lorenz and braced him from behind.

“Now you.”

“No— we’ll be late for dinner.”

“You won’t last— and wouldn’t it be very undignified if you creamed yourself in the dining hall? Hold still.”

Lorenz had no rebuttal, and was too spent to resist or argue. He didn’t _not_ want it, but to fail to make at least a small protest would be careless. Claude set his knees into the back of Lorenz’s, and fumbled blindly with his pants from behind.

“Stop;” Lorenz said, agitated, and undid the buttons and lacing himself. Claude did not wait for signal, but plunged his hands forward to take him out. 

Lorenz had to cover his mouth from crying out at the shock and novelty of being touched by someone else for only the second time. 

The raw and new callouses on Claude’s hands did not feel _fantastic_ , but the sight of two hands, not his own, wrapped around his cock quickly quelled any physical discomfort. Watching the two broad, brown hands work him over made short work of him. With the last weak shudder left in him, he soiled the dirt floor of the storage house and urged Claude off of him.

After several moments panting, the heat of the storage house abated and reality set in. Shame and disappointment drew over Lorenz as he cooled. He stood quickly, dusting his arms absently and retrieving his canteen as if nothing had happened. He made his way for the door. 

Claude was unsurprised. He watched Lorenz as he tried to flee.

“Lorenz, wait— your knees.”

He was crossed all over with dirt from training, but the dirt ground deeply at his knees was not soiling one got from being knocked on their back by parry.

“What about it? I’ve been training.”

“No, no. It’s obvious. Here.”

Claude squatted— he didn’t want to be caught with his own knees scuffed— and dusted Lorenz’s pants carefully with his shirt. The noble looked annoyed and abashed at once.

“Why bother? It’s none of your concern.”

“I don’t enjoy humiliating you like you _try_ to do to me, Lorenz. Or rather, letting you humiliate yourself.” He laughed softly in his chest. “Actually, I kind of like you. If you remember what I said in the gazebo.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah, it is. All done.” He stood up. “Want to walk together?”

“With you, shirtless and soaked? Hardly.”

“Fair enough.”

When he opened the storage room door, a cold wind rushed them both. A summer downpour had moved in.


End file.
